Hunger hit you fast and hunger hit you hard.
Nights bled into a steady routine that you were barely even aware of. Your transformation into a half-vampire sucked the spirit straight from your body and spat it back into you all knotted and frayed and unrecognizable. You stole passing glances into a shattered mirror on the wall of the hotel lobby and didn't recognize the girl glaring back at you in the reflection.
You had to give it to the boys—they had this whole babysitting thing down pact. Each of them took turns lingering behind to watch over you while the rest took off to wander the boardwalk and feed.
On your first night, you learned that you were the only half-vampire left among them, not counting Star or Laddie. The three of you could survive on human food but it didn't come remotely close to truly satisfying you. Not like it used to. The biggest takeout box from your favorite Chinese place was only a drop in the ocean of your insatiable hunger.
Dwayne watched you pace the room from his seat on the sofa. His half-lidded eyes slid over your figure, mapping the nervous twitching of your fingers without ever moving a muscle. Marko promised to bring you the biggest, greasiest burger he could find on his way back from the boardwalk but until then you were left nibbling on the stubs of your fingernails, battling the clawing hunger that tore at your stomach and made the idea of sitting still resonate like needles to the eyes.
The pillar candles stacked in the corners had all been lit before you woke up and the only sound aside from their soft crackling was the flickering of Dwayne's silver lighter that he kept dutifully stored in the front pocket of his jeans. It sounded off every few seconds and you watched out of the corner of your eye as he flipped the lid and snapped it shut with the flick of his wrist the dozenth time over. It kept him occupied as he stirred in what must've been his own lethal dose of boredom.
With a low huff, you ran both of your hands back through your hair and let them rest against the nape of your neck as you turned to make your way back across the room. Come on, (Y/N). Think about anything—literally anything but food.
"You hungry?"
Dwayne shattered the silence with two words—his voice gruff from not speaking all evening. You shook your head quickly, desperate to deny the truth for as long as you could. He didn't seem the type to push you for the truth, which is what you were counting on. Instead of prodding, all you heard from him next was the rhythmic flick-and-snap that you'd been subjected to for the last odd minutes.
Flick, snap.
Flick, snap.
Flick, snap.
Flick—
"How do you stand it?"
The question flew out of your mouth before you could reel it back in. You slapped a palm over your mouth and ceased your pacing in front of the couch.
A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Dwayne snapped the zippo shut a final time and folded his hand over the small object. He didn't have to stand it. He ate people. Not everyone at this party was still riding their moral high horse like you were.
"Never mind."
"There's other ways," he said just as you were about to turn and continue burning your path into the ancient tile floor. You swore you could feel your ears pricking up at his words. Your stomach grumbled, eliminating any denial you could have voiced just then. The human part of you—it must've been the human part—begged you to turn around and dive back into the soft-scented linens of Star's bed. But the part of you that hungered like a caged animal was much bigger. It shut her up pretty quick.
You eyed Dwayne unsurely and he met your apprehension with an invitational pat to his clothed thigh. You might have stood there all night battling for a reason to deny him if he hadn't held his hand out to beckon you closer, eyes blackened with a mixture of makeup and soot from the beach bonfires. Dwayne was all sharp edges and leather jackets, but those eyes. Round and trusting, they said more than you'd ever heard him speak in all of the time that you'd known him.
There were people in Santa Carla that you needed to be weary of—that you needed to think twice before turning your back to. But Dwayne was not one of them. He was trying to help you in the only way he knew how.
You allowed your hand to slip into his outstretched palm and he gently guided you to sit on the floor between his parted knees. Your eyes never left his face once, trusting him with everything you had left to trust with. He arched off of the sofa just enough to fish the switchblade out of his back pocket. It flew open with a swift click and he swiped the clean blade across his wrist without even hesitating.
The act reminded you far too much of the night David let you feed from him. You cursed the thirst that made your mouth water at the sight of crimson blood pooling to the surface of his warm olive skin. Dwayne held his hand out to you in an offering and you brought it closer to your face with both hands. Like an afterthought, you threw a quick glance back toward his face for permission to sink your teeth into his arm. He nodded almost a little too eagerly and the glass beads braided into thin strands of his hair jingled.
You gave his palm a testing lick, too busy steadying yourself against his firm thigh to notice as he bristled above you. He didn't taste at all like David did. Dwayne was much less sweet, if not slightly bitter. Like biting into a pomegranate, he tasted divine. Like something only gods had ever experienced before you. He tasted absolutely biblical.
It was impossible to even consider stopping once you got started. One hand cupped his wrist against your lips while the other sank your chipped nails into his knee, holding him in place like he would turn to mist if you so much as let go. In the back of your mind, it registered that Dwayne had pulled your hair back away from your face and was petting the tangled mess almost encouragingly as you drank. Whenever your teeth accidentally grazed the tender flesh of his arm, a fist would make its way to your scalp and a low hiss would slip past his lips.
The satisfied moan that trickled from your throat was immediately followed by a warm chuckle from Dwayne. "That's it," he cooed, as if you needed reassurance to drink your fill from him. "Take what you need from me, baby."
That's all this was—a helping hand. Just in a much more literal sense. In a way, this was no different from when you made your famous hangover cure for Michael because at the time, a hangover made the most sense when trying to figure out what was wrong with him. It was friendly. Friends took care of each other, right?
Your broiled-down explanation was barely enough to help you forget how sick and twisted this act really was.
As soon as you felt sated by his offering, you pulled away from Dwayne's arm with an audible pop and began licking the wound clean only to find that it was already closing all on its own.
Vampire magic. Freaky.
You looked up to thank him and his hands instantly flew to your jaw, cupping it carefully like you were a gauntlet of sweet wine. He lowered his face to yours just as his tongue darted out to lick your face clean of his own blood. You shuddered as his tongue curled around your jaw, both hands falling to either of his knees for support. Dwayne's thumb rolled over your bottom lip, carving a path for his lips to follow. Even after he cleaned you of every last trace of gore, you found yourself chasing after his lips as he sat back down on the sofa.
Dwayne watched your little display through his long eyelashes, bringing the pad of his thumb to his lips to suck a lingering bead of blood from his skin. He didn't chuckle at your little display like you expected him to, but the exhale that slipped through his nose had the same effect. He considered the sight of you—eyes bleary and starved for something only he could give you. He lowered his face to yours once more, teasingly catching your bottom lip in his teeth before licking into your open mouth.
Every part of him was smothered in tenderness, including the fist that coiled around the back of your scalp and held you steady as you gave into the hypnotic rumble that echoed through his chest when you tilted your head to the side to offer him easier access.
His tongue was cherry red with the same blood that stained the front of your shirt and rivered down your chin to tickle the sensitive skin of your throat. The taste it mingled with the cinnamon bite of his breath and you found yourself slipping away into the kiss, clinging desperately to the front of his jacket.
An obscene whimper rolled out of your mouth, muffled by Dwayne's lips against yours. He swallowed all of your noises whole—you would let him swallow you whole if he so wanted—but before it ever came to that, you heard a low whistle from the doorway and threw your head back to see Paul and Marko swaggering in from the cold night with a takeout bag fisted in each hand.
You slowly lowered your knees back to the ground, watching the two of them carefully as Dwayne smeared a drop of bloody saliva across your lip, easing himself off of you with a gentle pat on the cheek.
"Pay up, Marko Polo," Paul snickered, thwacking Marko in the back of the head as he strolled across the room with his hands deep in his jacket pockets.
"Oh, bullshit. Does that even count?" Marko glared up at him before throwing himself over the back of the sofa, tossing you one of the grease-stained brown paper bags. "Did he use tongue, princess?"
You gaped up at them, totally stunned. Of course they would place bets on you. Of course.
They watched with thinly veiled fondness as you tore into the bags of food like a wild animal, only acutely aware of how you were still sitting on the floor between Dwayne's knees or how he was tenderly stroking the back of your head while you shoveled fries past your bloodstained lips.
"Hey, do I get a kiss too for waiting an hour and a half for that burger?" Paul eased back into the sofa with a loud sigh. "Let me tell you something, these new tourists are a force to be reckoned with. They grow 'em differently these days, I tell you."
The only word you heard coming out of his mouth was burger. In a frenzy, you tore open the second bag and barely contained yourself until the sandwich was unwrapped in your hands. You couldn't find it in you to care about whatever mess you probably looked like just then. These guys ate people for Christ's sake. They've seen worse, surely.
You watched Marko jump up and slam his fist against the top of the TV, making it flash to life in a stunning display of bleary monochrome. Instead of launching himself back onto the couch, he slid down to your level, nimble fingers reaching over and stealing a fistful of fries out of your bag. You paused with your mouth open, glaring at him with a fry halfway to your lips. Marko did nothing to acknowledge your murderous expression aside from leaning forward and biting your fry clean in half with an exaggerated chewing sound. "Don't mind if I do," he said, struggling to form the words with his mouth full.
A few hours ago, you would have choked him to death right then and there for taking your food. But you were already half full on blood and for the first time since you woke up, you felt like a sliver the person you were when you first stepped foot in the cave.
You couldn't be mad at Marko. You couldn't be mad at any of them. The more you thought about it, the more you considered that they too were in your same position at one point in time. It would be a long while before you understood any of them perfectly, but it wouldn't hurt to acknowledge that truth at least.
"Where's David?" you asked, inhaling the last portion of your burger and wiping your hands down your shirt. The opening credits of Bride of Frankenstein flashed across the TV in front of you and the sound of a dated female scream filled the hotel lobby.
You couldn't put a name to the ache that appeared inside your chest around the same time that David suddenly disappeared from your life. It was like a strain on your heart that rendered you weak and lifeless. Even though there was always someone to stay back and watch over you, that person was never David. Most nights he wouldn't return to the cave until you were asleep.
Dwayne's fingers went still in your hair. "He's out hunting, baby."
"Still?"
Paul scoffed. "He's hiding like a pussy is what he's doing."
You heard a painful hiss and whipped your head around to see Paul rubbing one of his temples with a wounded expression. "What?" he snapped, glaring at Dwayne. "None of this is her fault. He's punishing her for something she didn't even do."
"Punishing...me...?"
Marko chimed in, stealing another fry while your head was turned. "He did say that he would stick around for her first hunger."
"Shit, man. That's weeks from now. Does he think he can just hide around until then?"
Your lips pursed together in confusion. Why was it so important for David to be there with you? You had the rest of them, didn't you? And Star for that matter.
Still rubbing his sore temple, Paul turned to lean against the arm of the sofa with a wounded expression on his face. "He's her sire," he grumbled almost a little dejectedly. "It's not right."
A loud flurry like a thousand bats blowing into the room echoed across the tall walls. You froze, turning to the mouth of the cave only to see David standing there eyeing the four of you with displeasure written all across his blood-soaked face.
Hunting. He'd been hunting.
"Care to share with the class, boys?" he snarled, taking slow and calculated steps toward you. He rounded the sofa like it wasn't even there, not acknowledging anyone else but you as he sank to his haunches before you. Anger melted into pity (or something startlingly close to it) and David pressed the back of his gloved hand against your forehead. "How you feeling, princess?"
The leather of his gloves was cold after a long motorcycle ride and you couldn't help but lean into his welcome touch. Fine, you wanted to say. Better than I've felt in days. But as soon as you opened your mouth to tell him this, words suddenly failed you and a yawn escaped your parted lips instead. A wave of exhaustion crept over you out of nowhere, making your eyebrows furrow as you fought the sudden urge to roll over and pass out.
"Sleepy?" David asked. His Californian drawl turned the word into something sinister and you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this—whatever this is—was entirely his doing.
"Sleepy," you confirmed, earning a knowing nod from him. As if he knew you were waiting for his permission, David nodded and removed his hand from your head. "Go to sleep, princess."
It was all the encouragement you needed to slump against Dwayne's thigh, nestling yourself against it like it was the comfiest pillow in the entire world. It was difficult if not totally impossible to fight this artificial sleep that David was putting you under. It felt like your consciousness was struggling in vain to claw its way over a wall of impenetrable grogginess. Through the haze of David's spell, you heard the boys as they continued to talk over you.
"It's easier this way. For everyone." David—it must have been David. "If she can sleep through the worst of it, she won't even know how much pain it's causing her."
"Until it's too late," countered someone else in a dangerously grave tone. You wanted to fight through just long enough to hear the tail-end of their conversation, but Dwayne's hand found its way into your hair again and not even the strongest half-vampire could have resisted the urge to sink away into a warm blanket sleep.
(A/N: This one is for my lovely ladies over 40 who make up half the readers of this book. I love the milfs and the milfs love me).